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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2019  with  funding  from 
Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


https://archive.org/details/storyofotherwise00vand_3 


THE  STORY  OF 
THE  OTHER  WISE  MAN 


BOOKS  BY 

HENRY  VAN  DYKE 

THE  BROKEN  SOLDIER 

AND  THE  MAID  OF  FRANCE 
THE  LOST  BOY 
THE  MANSION 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  OTHER  WISE  MAN 
THE  SAD  SHEPHERD 

HARPER  AND  BROTHERS 
LONDON  AND  NEW  YORK 
Established  18x7 


THE  STORY  OF 
THE  OTHER  WISE  MAN 


BY 

HENRY  VAN  DYKE 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS 

LONDON  AND  NEW  YORK 


The  Story  of  the  Other  Wise  Man 


Copyright,  1923,  by  Henry  Van  Dyke 
Printed  in  Great  Britain 


Who  seeks  for  heaven  alone  to  save  his  soul 
May  keep  the  path ,  but  will  not  reach  the  goal ; 
While  he  who  walks  in  love  may  wander  far , 
Tet  God  will  bring  him  where  the  blessed  are. 


Contents 

Preface . 

The  Sign  in  the  Sky  . 

By  the  Waters  of  Babylon  . 
For  the  Sake  of  a  Little  Child 
In  the  Hidden  Way  of  Sorrow  . 
A  Pearl  of  Great  Price  . 


PAGE 

ix 

3 

25 

43 

55 

65 


Vll 


preface 

It  is  now  some  years  since  this 
little  story  was  set  afloat  on  the 
sea  of  books.  It  is  not  a  man- 
of-war,  nor  even  a  high-sided 
merchantman;  only  a  small,  peace¬ 
ful  sailing-vessel.  Yet  it  has  had 
rather  an  adventurous  voyage. 
Twice  it  has  fallen  into  the  hands 
of  pirates.  The  tides  have  carried 
it  to  far  countries.  It  has  been 
passed  through  the  translator’s 
port  of  entry  into  German,  French, 
Armenian,  Turkish,  and  perhaps 
some  other  foreign  regions.  Once 
I  caught  sight  of  it  flying  the  out¬ 
landish  flag  of  a  brand-new  pho¬ 
netic  language  along  the  coasts  of 
France;  and  once  it  was  claimed 


IX 


PREFACE 


by  a  dealer  in  antiquities  as  a  long- 
lost  legend  of  the  Orient.  Best  of 
all,  it  has  slipped  quietly  into 
many  a  far-away  harbour  that  I 
have  never  seen,  and  found  a 
kindly  welcome,  and  brought  back 
messages  of  good  cheer  from  un¬ 
known  friends. 

Now  it  has  turned  home  to  be 
new-rigged  and  fitted  for  further 
voyaging.  Before  it  is  sent  out 
again  I  have  been  asked  to  tell 
where  the  story  came  from  and 
what  it  means. 

I  do  not  know  where  it  came 
from — out  of  the  air,  perhaps. 
One  thing  is  certain,  it  is  not 
written  in  any  other  book,  nor  is 
it  to  be  found  among  the  ancient 
lore  of  the  East.  And  yet  I  have 
never  felt  as  if  it  were  my  own. 
It  was  a  gift.  It  was  sent  to  me; 
and  it  seemed  as  if  I  knew  the 
Giver,  though  His  name  was  not 
spoken. 


PREFACE 


The  year  had  been  full  of 
sickness  and  sorrow.  Every  day 
brought  trouble.  Every  night  was 
tormented  with  pain.  They  are 
very  long — those  nights  when  one 
lies  awake,  and  hears  the  labouring 
heart  pumping  wearily  at  its  task, 
and  watches  for  the  morning,  not 
knowing  whether  it  will  ever  dawn. 
They  are  not  nights  of  fear;  for  the 
thought  of  death  grows  strangely 
familiar  when  you  have  lived  with 
it  for  a  year.  Besides,  after  a  time 
you  come  to  feel  like  a  soldier  who 
has  been  long  standing  still  under 
fire;  any  change  would  be  a  relief. 
But  they  are  lonely  nights;  they 
are  very  heavy  nights.  And  their 
heaviest  burden  is  this: 

You  must  face  the  thought  that 
your  work  in  the  world  may  be 
almost  ended,  but  you  know  that 
it  is  not  nearly  finished. 

You  have  not  solved  the  prob¬ 
lems  that  perplexed  you.  You 

xi 


PREFACE 


have  not  reached  the  goal  that 
you  aimed  at.  You  have  not  ac¬ 
complished  the  great  task  that  you 
set  for  yourself.  You  are  still  on 
the  way;  and  perhaps  your  journey 
must  end  now — nowhere — in  the 
dark. 

Well,  it  was  in  one  of  these  long, 
lonely  nights  that  this  story  came 
to  me.  I  had  studied  and  loved 
the  curious  tales  of  the  Three  Wise 
Men  of  the  East  as  they  are  told 
in  the  Golden  Legend  of  Jacobus 
de  Voragine  and  other  mediaeval 
books.  But  of  the  Fourth  Wise 
Man  I  had  never  heard  until  that 
night.  Then  I  saw  him  distinctly, 
moving  through  the  shadows  in  a 
little  circle  of  light.  Elis  counte¬ 
nance  was  as  clear  as  the  memory 
of  my  father’s  face  as  I  saw  it  for 
the  last  time  a  few  months  before. 
The  narrative  of  his  journeyings 
and  trials  and  disappointments 
ran  without  a  break.  Even  cer- 


PREFACE 


tain  sentences  came  to  me  com¬ 
plete  and  unforgettable,  clear-cut 
like  a  cameo.  All  that  I  had  to 
do  was  to  follow  Artaban,  step 
by  step,  as  the  tale  went  on,  from 
the  beginning  to  the  end  of  his 
pilgrimage. 

Perhaps  this  may  explain  some 
things  in  the  story.  I  have  been 
asked  many  times  why  I  made  the 
Fourth  Wise  Man  tell  a  lie,  in  the 
cottage  at  Bethlehem,  to  save  the 
little  child’s  life. 

I  did  not  make  him  tell  a  lie. 

What  Artaban  said  to  the  sol¬ 
diers  he  said  for  himself,  because 
he  could  not  help  it. 

Is  a  lie  ever  j ustifiable  ?  Perhaps 
not.  But  may  it  not  sometimes 
seem  inevitable  ? 

And  if  it  were  a  sin,  might  not  a 

man  confess  it,  and  be  pardoned 

for  it  more  easily  than  for  the 

greater  sin  of  spiritual  selfishness, 

or  indifference,  or  the  betrayal  of 

•  •  • 

Xlll 


PREFACE 


innocent  blood  ?  That  is  what  I 
saw  Artaban  do.  That  is  what  I 
heard  him  say.  All  through  his 
life  he  was  trying  to  do  the  best 
that  he  could.  It  was  not  perfect. 
But  there  are  some  kinds  of  failure 
that  are  better  than  success. 

Though  the  story  of  the  Fourth 
Wise  Man  came  to  me  suddenly 
and  without  labour,  there  was  a 
great  deal  of  study  and  toil  to  be 
done  before  it  could  be  written 
down.  An  idea  arrives  without 
effort;  a  form  can  only  be  wrought 
out  by  patient  labour.  If  your 
story  is  worth  telling,  you  ought 
to  love  it  enough  to  be  willing  to 
work  over  it  until  it  is  true — true 
not  only  to  the  ideal,  but  true  also 
to  the  real.  The  light  is  a  gift; 
but  the  local  colour  can  only  be 
seen  by  one  who  looks  for  it  long 
and  steadily.  Artaban  went  with 
me  while  I  toiled  through  a  score 
of  volumes  of  ancient  history  and 

xiv 


PREFACE 


travel.  I  saw  his  figure  while  I 
journeyed  on  the  motionless  sea  of 
the  desert  and  in  the  strange  cities 
of  the  East. 

And  now  that  his  story  is  told, 
what  does  it  mean  ? 

How  can  I  tell  ?  What  does  life 
mean  ?  If  the  meaning  could  be 
put  into  a  sentence  there  would  be 
no  need  of  telling  the  story. 

HENRY  VAN  DYKE. 


xv 


B 


Y  ou  know  the  story  of  the 
Three  Wise  Men  of  the  East,  and 
how  they  travelled  from  far  away 
to  offer  their  gifts  at  the  manger- 
cradle  in  Bethlehem.  But  have 
you  ever  heard  the  story  of  the 
Other  Wise  Man,  who  also  saw  the 
star  in  its  rising,  and  set  out  to  fol¬ 
low  it,  yet  did  not  arrive  with  his 
brethren  in  the  presence  of  the 
young  child  Jesus  ?  Of  the  great 
desire  of  this  fourth  pilgrim,  and 
how  it  was  denied,  yet  accom¬ 
plished  in  the  denial;  of  his  many 
wanderings  and  the  probations  of 
his  soul;  of  the  long  way  of  his 
seeking,  and  the  strange  way  of 
his  finding,  the  One  whom  he 
sought — I  would  tell  the  tale  as  I 
have  heard  fragments  of  it  in  the 
Hall  of  Dreams,  in  the  palace  of 
the  Heart  of  Man. 


xvi 


THE  SIGN  IN  THE  SKY 


Ube  SIqw  In  tbe  Sfcs 


In  the  days  when  Augustus 
Caesar  was  master  of  many  kings  and 
Herod  reigned  in  Jerusalem,  there 
lived  in  the  city  of  Ecbatana, 
among  the  mountains  of  Persia,  a 
certain  man  named  Artaban,  the 
Median.  His  house  stood  close  to 
the  outermost  of  the  seven  walls 
which  encircled  the  royal  treasury. 
From  his  roof  he  could  look  over 
the  rising  battlements  of  black  and 
white  and  crimson  and  blue  and 
red  and  silver  and  gold,  to  the  hill 
where  the  summer  palace  of  the 
Parthian  emperors  glittered  like  a 
jewel  in  a  sevenfold  crown. 

Around  the  dwelling  of  Artaban 
spread  a  fair  garden,  a  tangle  of 


THE  SIGN  IN  THE  SKY 

flowers  and  fruit  trees,  watered  by 
a  score  of  streams  descending  from 
the  slopes  of  Mount  Orontes,  and 
made  musical  by  innumerable  birds. 
But  all  colour  was  lost  in  the  soft 
and  odorous  darkness  of  the  late 
September  night,  and  all  sounds 
were  hushed  in  the  deep  charm  of 
its  silence,  save  the  plashing  of  the 
water,  like  a  voice  half  sobbing  and 
half  laughing  under  the  shadows. 
High  above  the  trees  a  dim  glow  of 
light  shone  through  the  curtained 
arches  of  the  upper  chamber,  where 
the  master  of  the  house  was  hold¬ 
ing  council  with  his  friends. 

He  stood  by  the  doorway  to 
greet  his  guests — a  tall,  dark  man 
of  about  forty  years,  with  brilliant 
eyes  set  near  together  under  his 
broad  brow,  and  firm  lines  graven 
around  his  fine,  thin  lips ;  the  brow 
of  a  dreamer  and  the  mouth  of  a 
soldier,  a  man  of  sensitive  feeling 
but  inflexible  will — one  of  those 


4 


THE  SIGN  IN  THE  SKY 

who,  in  whatever  age  they  may 
live,  are  born  for  inward  conflict 
and  a  life  of  quest. 

His  robe  was  of  pure  white  wool, 
thrown  over  a  tunic  of  silk;  and  a 
white,  pointed  cap,  with  long  lapels 
at  the  sides,  rested  on  his  flowing 
black  hair.  It  was  the  dress  of  the 
ancient  priesthood  of  the  Magi, 
called  the  fire-worshippers. 

“  Welcome  !”  he  said,  in  his  low, 
pleasant  voice,  as  one  after  another 
entered  the  room — “  welcome,  Ab- 
dus;  peace  be  with  you,  Rhodaspes 
and  Tigranes,  and  with  you  my 
father,  Abgarus.  You  are  all  wel¬ 
come,  and  this  house  grows  bright 
with  the  joy  of  your  presence.” 

There  were  nine  of  the  men, 
differing  widely  in  age,  but  alike  in 
the  richness  of  their  dress  of  many- 
coloured  silks,  and  in  the  massive 
golden  collars  around  their  necks, 
marking  them  as  Parthian  nobles, 
and  in  the  winged  circles  of  gold 

5 


THE  SIGN  IN  THE  SKY 


resting  upon  their  breasts,  the  sign 
of  the  followers  of  Zoroaster. 

They  took  their  places  around  a 
small  black  altar  at  the  end  of  the 
room,  where  a  tiny  flame  was  burn¬ 
ing.  Artaban,  standing  beside  it, 
and  waving  a  barsom  of  thin  tama¬ 
risk  branches  above  the  fire,  fed  it 
with  dry  sticks  of  pine  and  fragrant 
oils.  Then  he  began  the  ancient 
chant  of  the  Yasna,  and  the  voices 
of  his  companions  joined  in  the 
beautiful  hymn  to  Ahura-Mazda: 


We  worship  the  Spirit  Divine, 

all  wisdom  and  goodness  possessing, 
Surrounded  by  Holy  Immortals, 

the  givers  of  bounty  and  blessing, 

We  joy  in  the  works  of  His  hands, 

His  truth  and  His  power  confessing. 

We  praise  all  the  things  that  are  pure, 

for  these  are  His  only  Creation; 
The  thoughts  that  are  true,  and  the  words 
and  deeds  that  have  won  approbation; 
These  are  supported  by  Him 

and  for  these  we  make  adoration. 

6 


THE  SIGN  IN  THE  SKY 


Hear  us,  O  Mazda  !  Thou  livest 

in  truth  and  in  heavenly  gladness; 
Cleanse  us  from  falsehood,  and  keep  us 

from  evil  and  bondage  to  badness; 
Pour  out  the  light  and  the  joy  of  Thy  life 
on  our  darkness  and  sadness. 

Shine  on  our  gardens  and  fields, 

Shine  on  our  working  and  weaving; 
Shine  on  the  whole  race  of  man, 

Believing  and  unbelieving; 

Shine  on  us  now  through  the  night, 
Shine  on  us  now  in  Thy  might, 

The  flame  of  our  holy  love 

and  the  song  of  our  worship  receiving. 

The  fire  rose  with  the  chant, 
throbbing  as  if  it  were  made  of 
musical  flame,  until  it  cast  a 
bright  illumination  through  the 
whole  apartment,  revealing  its  sim¬ 
plicity  and  splendour. 

The  floor  was  laid  with  tiles  of 
dark  blue  veined  with  white;  pilas¬ 
ters  of  twisted  silver  stood  out 
against  the  blue  walls;  the  clear¬ 
story  of  round-arched  windows 
above  them  was  hung  with  azure 

7 


THE  SIGN  IN  THE  SKY 


silk;  the  vaulted  ceiling  was  a 
pavement  of  sapphires,  like  the 
body  of  heaven  in  its  clearness, 
sown  with  silver  stars.  From  the 
four  corners  of  the  roof  hung  four 
golden  magic-wheels,  called  the 
tongues  of  the  gods.  At  the  east¬ 
ern  end,  behind  the  altar,  there 
were  two  dark-red  pillars  of  por¬ 
phyry;  above  them  a  lintel  of  the 
same  stone,  on  which  was  carved 
the  figure  of  a  winged  archer,  with 
his  arrow  set  to  the  string  and  his 
bow  drawn. 

The  doorway  between  the  pillars, 
which  opened  upon  the  terrace 
of  the  roof,  was  covered  with 
a  heavy  curtain  of  the  colour  of 
a  ripe  pomegranate,  embroidered 
with  innumerable  golden  rays 
shooting  upward  from  the  floor. 
In  effect  the  room  was  like  a  quiet, 
starry  night,  all  azure  and  silver, 
flushed  in  the  east  with  rosy 
promise  of  the  dawn.  It  was,  as 

8 


THE  SIGN  IN  THE  SKY 


the  house  of  a  man  should  be,  an 
expression  of  the  character  and 
spirit  of  the  master. 

He  turned  to  his  friends  when 
the  song  was  ended,  and  invited 
them  to  be  seated  on  the  divan  at 
the  western  end  of  the  room. 

“  You  have  come  to-night,”  said 
he,  looking  around  the  circle,  “  at 
my  call,  as  the  faithful  scholars  of 
Zoroaster,  to  renew  your  worship 
and  rekindle  your  faith  in  the  God 
of  Purity,  even  as  this  fire  has  been 
rekindled  on  the  altar.  We  wor¬ 
ship  not  the  fire,  but  Him  of  whom 
it  is  the  chosen  symbol,  because  it  is 
the  purest  of  all  created  things.  It 
speaks  to  us  of  one  who  is  Light  and 
Truth.  Is  it  not  so,  my  father  ?” 

“  It  is  well  said,  my  son,”  an¬ 
swered  the  venerable  Abgarus. 
'c  The  enlightened  are  never  idol¬ 
aters.  They  lift  the  veil  of  the 
form  and  go  into  the  shrine  of  the 
reality,  and  new  light  and  truth 

9 


THE  SIGN  IN  THE  SKY 


are  coming  to  them  continually 
through  the  old  symbols,” 

“  Hear  me,  then,  my  father  and 
my  friends,”  said  Artaban,  very 
quietly,  “  while  I  tell  you  of  the 
new  light  and  truth  that  have 
come  to  me  through  the  most 
ancient  of  all  signs.  We  have 
searched  the  secrets  of  nature  to¬ 
gether,  and  studied  the  healing 
virtues  of  water  and  fire  and  the 
plants.  We  have  read  also  the 
books  of  prophecy  in  which  the 
future  is  dimly  foretold  in  words 
that  are  hard  to  understand.  But 
the  highest  of  all  learning  is  the 
knowledge  of  the  stars.  To  trace 
their  courses  is  to  untangle  the 
threads  of  the  mystery  of  life  from 
the  beginning  to  the  end.  If  we 
could  follow  them  perfectly,  no¬ 
thing  would  be  hidden  from  us. 
But  is  not  our  knowledge  of  them 
still  incomplete  ?  Are  there  not 
many  stars  still  beyond  our  horizon 

10 


THE  SIGN  IN  THE  SKY 

— lights  that  are  known  only  to  the 
dwellers  in  the  far  south-land, 
among  the  spice-trees  of  Punt  and 
the  gold-mines  of  Ophir  ?” 

There  was  a  murmur  of  assent 
among  the  listeners. 

“  The  stars,”  said  Tigranes,  “  are 
the  thoughts  of  the  Eternal.  They 
are  numberless.  But  the  thoughts 
of  man  can  be  counted,  like  the 
years  of  his  life.  The  wisdom  of 
the  Magi  is  the  greatest  of  all 
wisdoms  on  earth,  because  it  knows 
its  own  ignorance.  And  that  is 
the  secret  of  power.  We  keep  men 
always  looking  and  waiting  for  a 
new  sunrise.  But  we  ourselves 
know  that  the  darkness  is  equal 
to  the  light  and  that  the  conflict 
between  them  will  never  be  ended.” 

“  That  does  not  satisfy  me,”  an¬ 
swered  Artaban,  “  for,  if  the  wait¬ 
ing  must  be  endless,  if  there  could 
be  no  fulfilment  of  it,  then  it 
would  not  be  wisdom  to  look 


THE  SIGN  IN  THE  SKY 


and  wait.  We  should  become  like 
those  new  teachers  of  the  Greeks, 
who  say  that  there  is  no  truth, 
and  that  the  only  wise  men  are 
those  who  spend  their  lives  in  dis¬ 
covering  and  exposing  the  lies 
that  have  been  believed  in  the 
world.  But  the  new  sunrise  will 
certainly  dawn  in  the  appointed 
time.  Do  not  our  own  books  tell 
us  that  this  will  come  to  pass,  and 
that  men  will  see  the  brightness  of 
a  great  light  ?” 

“  That  is  true,”  said  the  voice  of 
Abgarus;  “  every  faithful  disciple 
of  Zoroaster  knows  the  prophecy 
of  the  Avesta  and  carries  the  word 
in  his  heart.  6  In  that  day  Sosiosh 
the  Victorious  shall  arise  out  of 
the  number  of  the  prophets  in  the 
east  country.  Around  him  shall 
shine  a  mighty  brightness,  and  he 
shall  make  life  everlasting,  incor¬ 
ruptible,  and  immortal,  and  the 
dead  shall  rise  again.5  55 

12 


THE  SIGN  IN  THE  SKY 

“  This  is  a  dark  saying,”  said 
Tigranes,  “  and  it  may  be  that  we 
shall  never  understand  it.  It  is 
better  to  consider  the  things  that 
are  near  at  hand,  and  to  increase 
the  influence  of  the  Magi  in  their 
own  country,  rather  than  to  look 
for  one  who  may  be  a  stranger, 
and  to  whom  we  must  resign  our 
power.” 

The  others  seemed  to  approve 
these  words.  There  was  a  silent 
feeling  of  agreement  manifest 
among  them;  their  looks  responded 
with  that  indefinable  expression 
which  always  follows  when  a 
speaker  has  uttered  the  thought 
that  has  been  slumbering  in  the 
hearts  of  his  listeners.  But  Arta- 
ban  turned  to  Abgarus  with  a 
glow  on  his  face,  and  said : 

“  My  father,  I  have  kept  this 
prophecy  in  the  secret  place  of  my 
soul.  Religion  without  a  great 
hope  would  be  like  an  altar  with- 

13 


THE  SIGN  IN  THE  SKY 


out  a  living  fire.  And  now  the 
flame  has  burned  more  brightly, 
and  by  the  light  of  it  I  have  read 
other  words  which  also  have  come 
from  the  fountain  of  Truth,  and 
speak  yet  more  clearly  of  the  rising 
of  the  Victorious  One  in  his 
brightness.” 

He  drew  from  the  breast  of  his 
tunic  two  small  rolls  of  fine  linen, 
with  writing  upon  them,  and  un¬ 
folded  them  carefully  upon  his 
knee. 

“  In  the  years  that  are  lost  in 
the  past,  long  before  our  fathers 
came  into  the  land  of  Babylon, 
there  were  wise  men  in  Chaldea, 
from  whom  the  first  of  the  Magi 
learned  the  secret  of  the  heavens. 
And  of  these  Balaam,  the  son  of 
Beor,  was  one  of  the  mightiest. 
Hear  the  words  of  his  prophecy: 
‘  There  shall  come  a  star  out  of 
Jacob,  and  a  sceptre  shall  arise 
out  of  Israel.’  ” 


THE  SIGN  IN  THE  SKY 


The  lips  of  Tigranes  drew  down¬ 
ward  with  contempt,  as  he  said: 

“  Judah  was  a  captive  by  the 
waters  of  Babylon,  and  the  sons 
of  Jacob  were  in  bondage  to  our 
kings.  The  tribes  of  Israel  are 
scattered  through  the  mountains 
like  lost  sheep,  and  from  the 
remnant  that  dwells  in  Judea  under 
the  yoke  of  Rome  neither  star  nor 
sceptre  shall  arise.” 

“  And  yet,”  answered  Artaban, 
“  it  was  die  Hebrew  Daniel,  the 
mighty  searcher  of  dreams,  the 
counsellor  of  kings,  the  wise  Belte- 
shazzar,  who  was  most  honoured 
and  beloved  of  our  great  King 
Cyrus.  A  prophet  of  sure  things 
and  a  reader  of  the  thoughts  of 
God,  Daniel  proved  himself  to  our 
people.  And  these  are  the  words 
that  he  wrote.”  (Artaban  read 
from  the  second  roll:)  “  6  Know, 
therefore,  and  understand  that 
from  the  going  forth  of  the  com- 


THE  SIGN  IN  THE  SKY 


mandment  to  restore  Jerusalem, 
unto  the  Anointed  One,  the  Prince, 
the  time  shall  be  seven  and  three¬ 
score  and  two  weeks.’  ” 

“  But,  my  son,”  said  Abgarus, 
doubtfully,  “  these  are  mystical 
numbers.  Who  can  interpret 
them,  or  who  can  find  the  key 
that  shall  unlock  their  meaning  ?” 

Artaban  answered:  “  It  has  been 
shown  to  me  and  to  my  three  com¬ 
panions  among  the  Magi — Caspar, 
Melchior,  and  Balthazar.  We  have 
searched  the  ancient  tablets  of 
Chaldea  and  computed  the  time. 
It  falls  in  this  year.  We  have 
studied  the  sky,  and  in  the  spring 
of  the  year  we  saw  two  of  the 
greatest  stars  draw  near  together 
in  the  sign  of  the  Fish,  which  is 
the  house  of  the  Hebrews.  We 
also  saw  a  new  star  there,  which 
shone  for  one  night  and  then  van¬ 
ished.  Now  again  the  two  great 
planets  are  meeting.  This  night 


THE  SIGN  IN  THE  SKY 


is  their  conjunction.  My  three 
brothers  are  watching  at  the  an¬ 
cient  Temple  of  the  Seven  Spheres, 
at  Borsippa,  in  Babylonia,  and  I 
am  watching  here.  If  the  star 
shines  again,  they  will  wait  ten 
days  for  me  at  the  temple,  and 
then  we  will  set  out  together  for 
Jerusalem,  to  see  and  worship  the 
promised  one  who  shall  be  born 
King  of  Israel.  I  believe  the  sign 
will  come.  I  have  made  ready 
for  the  journey.  I  have  sold  my 
house  and  my  possessions,  and 
bought  these  three  jewels — a 
sapphire,  a  ruby,  and  a  pearl — to 
carry  them  as  tribute  to  the  King. 
And  I  ask  you  to  go  with  me  on 
the  pilgrimage,  that  we  may  have 
joy  together  in  finding  the  Prince 
who  is  worthy  to  be  served.” 

While  he  was  speaking  he  thrust 
his  hand  into  the  inmost  fold  of  his 
girdle  and  drew  out  three  great 
gems- — one  blue  as  a  fragment  of 

17 


THE  SIGN  IN  THE  SKY 

the  night  sky,  one  redder  than  a 
ray  of  sunrise,  and  one  as  pure  as 
the  peak  of  a  snow  mountain  at 
twilight — and  laid  them  on  the 
outspread  linen  scrolls  before  him. 

But  his  friends  looked  on  with 
strange  and  alien  eyes.  A  veil  of 
doubt  and  mistrust  came  over 
their  faces,  like  a  fog  creeping  up 
from  the  marshes  to  hide  the  hills. 
They  glanced  at  each  other  with 
looks  of  wonder  and  pity,  as  those 
who  have  listened  to  incredible 
sayings,  the  story  of  a  wild  vision, 
or  the  proposal  of  an  impossible 
enterprise. 

At  last  Tigranes  said:  “  Artaban, 
this  is  a  vain  dream.  It  comes 
from  too  much  looking  upon  the 
stars  and  the  cherishing  of  lofty 
thoughts.  It  would  be  wiser  to 
spend  the  time  in  gathering  money 
for  the  new  fire-temple  at  Chala. 
No  king  will  ever  rise  from  the 
broken  race  of  Israel,  and  no  end 

18 


THE  SIGN  IN  THE  SKY 


will  ever  come  to  the  eternal  strife 
of  light  and  darkness.  He  who 
looks  for  it  is  a  chaser  of  shadows. 
Farewell.” 

And  another  said:  “  Artaban,  I 
have  no  knowledge  of  these  things, 
and  my  office  as  guardian  of  the 
royal  treasure  binds  me  here.  The 
quest  is  not  for  me.  But  if  thou 
must  follow  it,  fare  thee  well.” 

And  another  said:  “  In  my  house 
there  sleeps  a  new  bride,  and  I 
cannot  leave  her  nor  take  her  with 
me  on  this  strange  journey.  This 
quest  is  not  for  me.  But  may  thy 
steps  be  prospered  wherever  thou 
goest.  So,  farewell.” 

And  another  said:  “  I  am  ill  and 
unfit  for  hardship,  but  there  is  a 
man  among  my  servants  whom  I 
will  send  with  thee  when  thou 
goest,  to  bring  me  word  how  thou 
farest.” 

But  Abgarus,  the  oldest  and  the 
one  who  loved  Artaban  the  best, 


THE  SIGN  IN  THE  SKY 


lingered  after  the  others  had  gone, 
and  said,  gravely:  “  My  son,  it  may 
be  that  the  light  of  truth  is  in  this 
sign  that  has  appeared  in  the  skies, 
and  then  it  will  surely  lead  to  the 
Prince  and  the  mighty  brightness. 
Or  it  may  be  that  it  is  only  a 
shadow  of  the  light,  as  Tigranes 
has  said,  and  then  he  who  follows 
it  will  have  only  a  long  pilgrimage 
and  an  empty  search.  But  it  is 
better  to  follow  even  the  shadow 
of  the  best  than  to  remain  content 
with  the  worst.  And  those  who 
would  see  wonderful  things  must 
often  be  ready  to  travel  alone.  I 
am  too  old  for  this  journey,  but 
my  heart  shall  be  a  companion  of 
the  pilgrimage  day  and  night,  and 
I  shall  know  the  end  of  thy  quest. 
Go  in  peace.” 

So  one  by  one  they  went  out  of 
the  azure  chamber  with  its  silver 
stars,  and  Artaban  was  left  in 
solitude. 


20 


THE  SIGN  IN  THE  SKY 


He  gathered  up  the  jewels  and 
replaced  them  in  his  girdle.  For 
a  long  time  he  stood  and  watched 
the  flame  that  flickered  and  sank 
upon  the  altar.  Then  he  crossed 
the  hall,  lifted  the  heavy  curtain, 
and  passed  out  between  the  dull 
red  pillars  of  porphyry  to  the 
terrace  on  the  roof. 

The  shiver  that  thrills  through 
the  earth  ere  she  rouses  from  her 
night  sleep  had  already  begun, 
and  the  cool  wind  that  heralds 
the  daybreak  was  drawing  down¬ 
ward  from  the  lofty,  snow-traced 
ravines  of  Mount  Orontes.  Birds, 
half  awakened,  crept  and  chirped 
among  the  rustling  leaves,  and 
the  smell  of  ripened  grapes  came 
in  brief  wafts  from  the  arbours. 

Far  over  the  eastern  plain  a 
white  mist  stretched  like  a  lake. 
But  where  the  distant  peak  of 
Zagros  serrated  the  western  hori¬ 
zon  the  sky  was  clear.  Jupiter 

21 


THE  SIGN  IN  THE  SKY 

and  Saturn  rolled  together  like 
drops  of  lambent  flame  about  to 
blend  in  one. 

As  Artaban  watched  them,  be¬ 
hold,  an  azure  spark  was  born  out 
of  the  darkness  beneath,  rounding 
itself  with  purple  splendours  to  a 
crimson  sphere,  and  spiring  up¬ 
ward  through  rays  of  saffron  and 
orange  into  a  point  of  white  radi¬ 
ance.  Tiny  and  infinitely  remote, 
yet  perfect  in  every  part,  it  pul¬ 
sated  in  the  enormous  vault  as  if 
the  three  jewels  in  the  Magian’s 
breast  had  mingled  and  been  trans¬ 
formed  into  a  living  heart  of  light. 

He  bowed  his  head.  He  covered 
his  brow  with  his  hands. 

“  It  is  the  sign,”  he  said.  “  The 
King  is  coming,  and  I  will  go  to 
meet  him.” 


22 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF 
BABYLON 


By  tbe  Maters  of  Babylon 

All  night  long  Vasda,  the  swift¬ 
est  of  Artaban’s  horses,  had  been 
waiting,  saddled  and  bridled,  in 
her  stall,  pawing  the  ground  im¬ 
patiently,  and  shaking  her  bit  as 
if  she  shared  the  eagerness  of  her 
master’s  purpose,  though  she  knew 
not  its  meaning. 

Before  the  birds  had  fully  roused 
to  their  strong,  high,  joyful  chant 
of  morning  song,  before  the  white 
mist  had  begun  to  lift  lazily  from 
the  plain,  the  other  wise  man  was 
in  the  saddle,  riding  swiftly  along 
the  high-road,  which  skirted  the 
base  of  Mount  Orontes,  westward. 

How  close,  how  intimate  is  the 
comradeship  between  a  man  and 

25 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  BABYLON 

his  favourite  horse  on  a  long 
journey.  It  is  a  silent,  compre¬ 
hensive  friendship,  an  intercourse 
beyond  the  need  of  words. 

They  drink  at  the  same  way- 
side  springs,  and  sleep  under  the 
same  guardian  stars.  They  are 
conscious  together  of  the  subduing 
spell  of  nightfall  and  the  quicken¬ 
ing  joy  of  daybreak.  The  master 
shares  his  evening  meal  with  his 
hungry  companion,  and  feels  the 
soft,  moist  lips  caressing  the  palm 
of  his  hand  as  they  close  over 
the  morsel  of  bread.  In  the  grey 
dawn  he  is  roused  from  his  bivouac 
by  the  gentle  stir  of  a  warm,  sweet 
breath  over  his  sleeping  face,  and 
looks  up  into  the  eyes  of  his 
faithful  fellow-traveller,  ready  and 
waiting  for  the  toil  of  the  day. 
Surely,  unless  he  is  a  pagan  and 
an  unbeliever,  by  whatever  name 
he  calls  upon  his  God,  he  will 
thank  Him  for  this  voiceless  sym- 

2  6 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  BABYLON 

pathy,  this  dumb  affection,  and 
his  morning  prayer  will  embrace  a 
double  blessing — God  bless  us  both, 
and  keep  our  feet  from  falling  and 
our  souls  from  death  i 

And  then,  through  the  keen 
morning  air,  the  swift  hoofs  beat 
their  spirited  music  along  the  road, 
keeping  time  to  the  pulsing  of 
two  hearts  that  are  moved  with 
the  same  eager  desire — to  conquer 
space,  to  devour  the  distance,  to 
attain  the  goal  of  the  journey. 

Artaban  must  indeed  ride  wisely 
and  well  if  he  would  keep  the 
appointed  hour  with  the  other 
Magi;  for  the  route  was  a  hundred 
and  fifty  parasangs,  and  fifteen  was 
the  utmost  that  he  could  travel 
in  a  day.  But  he  knew  Vasda’s 
strength,  and  pushed  forward  with¬ 
out  anxiety,  making  the  fixed  dis¬ 
tance  every  day,  though  he  must 
travel  late  into  the  night,  and  in 
the  morning  long  before  sunrise. 

27 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  BABYLON 

He  passed  along  the  brown 
slopes  of  Mount  Orontes,  furrowed 
by  the  rocky  courses  of  a  hundred 
torrents. 

He  crossed  the  level  plains  of 
the  Nisseans,  where  the  famous 
herds  of  horses,  feeding  in  the 
wide  pastures,  tossed  their  heads 
at  Vasda’s  approach,  and  galloped 
away  with  a  thunder  of  many 
hoofs,  and  flocks  of  wild  birds 
rose  suddenly  from  the  swampy 
meadows,  wheeling  in  great  circles 
with  a  shining  flutter  of  innumer¬ 
able  wings  and  shrill  cries  of 
surprise. 

He  traversed  the  fertile  fields  of 
Concabar,  where  the  dust  from  the 
threshing-floors  filled  the  air  with 
a  golden  mist,  half  hiding  the  huge 
temple  of  Astarte  with  its  four- 
hundred  pillars. 

At  Baghistan,  among  the  rich 
gardens  watered  by  fountains  from 
the  rock,  he  looked  up  at  the 

28 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  BABYLON 

mountain  thrusting  its  immense 
rugged  brow  out  over  the  road, 
and  saw  the  figure  of  King  Darius 
trampling  upon  his  fallen  foes,  and 
the  proud  list  of  his  wars  and  con¬ 
quests  graven  high  upon  the  face 
of  the  eternal  cliff. 

Over  many  a  cold  and  desolate 
pass,  crawling  painfully  across  the 
wind-swept  shoulders  of  the  hills; 
down  many  a  black  mountain- 
gorge,  where  the  river  roared  and 
raced  before  him  like  a  savage 
guide;  across  many  a  smiling  vale, 
with  terraces  of  yellow  limestone 
full  of  vines  and  fruit  trees ; 
through  the  oak  groves  of  Carine, 
and  the  dark  Gates  of  Zagros, 
walled  in  by  precipices;  into  the 
ancient  city  of  Cliala,  where  the 
people  of  Samaria  had  been  kept 
in  captivity  long  ago;  and  out 
again  by  the  mighty  portal,  riven 
through  the  encircling  hills,  where 
he  saw  the  image  of  the  High 

*9 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  BABYLON 

Priest  of  the  Magi  sculptured  on 
the  wall  of  rock,  with  hand  up¬ 
lifted  as  if  to  bless  the  centuries 
of  pilgrims;  past  the  entrance  of 
the  narrow  defile,  filled  from  end 
to  end  with  orchards  of  peaches 
and  figs,  through  which  the  river 
Gyndes  foamed  down  to  meet 
him;  over  the  broad  rice-fields 
where  the  autumnal  vapours  spread 
their  deathly  mists ;  following  along 
the  course  of  the  river,  under 
tremulous  shadows  of  poplar  and 
tamarind,  among  the  lower  hills; 
and  out  upon  the  flat  plain,  where 
the  road  ran  straight  as  an  arrow 
through  the  stubble-fields  and 
parched  meadows;  past  the  city 
of  Ctesiphon  where  the  Parthian 
emperors  reigned,  and  the  vast 
metropolis  of  Seleucia  which  Alex¬ 
ander  built;  across  the  swirling 
floods  of  Tigris  and  the  many 
channels  of  Euphrates,  flowing 
yellow  through  the  corn-lands — 

3° 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  BABYLON 

Artaban  pressed  onward  until  he 
arrived,  at  nightfall  of  the  tenth 
da y,  beneath  the  shattered  walls 
of  populous  Babylon. 

Vasda  was  almost  spent,  and  he 
would  gladly  have  turned  into  the 
city  to  find  rest  and  refreshment  for 
himself  and  for  her.  But  he  knew 
that  it  was  three  hours’  journey 
yet  to  the  Temple  of  the  Seven 
Spheres,  and  he  must  reach  the 
place  by  midnight  if  he  would  find 
his  comrades  waiting.  So  he  did 
not  halt,  but  rode  steadily  across 
the  stubble-fields. 

A  grove  of  date-palms  made 
an  island  of  gloom  in  the  pale 
yellow  sea.  As  she  passed  into  the 
shadow  Vasda  slackened  her  pace, 
and  began  to  pick  her  way  more 
carefullv. 

Near  the  farther  end  of  the  dark¬ 
ness  an  access  of  caution  seemed  to 
fall  upon  her.  She  scented  some 
danger  or  difficulty;  it  was  not  in 

31  D 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  BABYLON 

her  heart  to  fly  from  it — only  to  be 
prepared  for  it,  and  to  meet  it 
wisely,  as  a  good  horse  should  do. 
The  grove  was  close  and  silent  as 
the  tomb;  not  a  leaf  rustled,  not  a 
bird  sang. 

She  felt  her  steps  before  her 
delicately,  carrying  her  head  low, 
and  sighing  now  and  then  with 
apprehension.  At  last  she  gave  a 
quick  breath  of  anxiety  and  dismay, 
and  stood  stock-still,  quivering  in 
every  muscle,  before  a  dark  object 
in  the  shadow  of  the  last  palm-tree. 

Artaban  dismounted.  The  dim 
starlight  revealed  the  form  of  a 
man  lying  across  the  road.  His 
humble  dress  and  the  outline  of 
his  haggard  face  showed  that  he 
was  probably  one  of  the  poor 
Hebrew  exiles  who  still  dwelt  in 
great  numbers  in  the  vicinity. 
His  pallid  skin,  dry  and  yellow  as 
parchment,  bore  the  mark  of  the 
deadly  fever  which  ravaged  the 

32 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  BABYLON 

marsh-lands  in  autumn.  The  chill 
of  death  was  in  his  lean  hand,  and 
as  Artaban  released  it  the  arm  fell 
back  inertly  upon  the  motionless 
breast. 

He  turned  away  with  a  thought 
of  pity,  consigning  the  body  to 
that  strange  burial  which  the 
Magians  deemed  most  fitting — the 
funeral  of  the  desert,  from  which 
the  kites  and  vultures  rise  on  dark 
wings,  and  the  beasts  of  prey  slink 
furtively  away,  leaving  only  a  heap 
of  white  bones  in  the  sand. 

But,  as  he  turned,  a  long,  faint, 
ghostly  sigh  came  from  the  man’s 
lips.  The  brown,  bony  fingers 
closed  convulsively  on  the  hem  of 
the  Magian’s  robe  and  held  him 
fast. 

Artaban’s  heart  leaped  to  his 
throat,  not  with  fear,  but  with  a 
dumb  resentment  at  the  impor¬ 
tunity  of  this  blind  delay. 

How  could  he  stay  here  in  the 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  BABYLON 

darkness  to  minister  to  a  dying 
stranger  ?  What  claim  had  this 
unknown  fragment  of  human  life 
upon  his  compassion  or  his  service  ? 
If  he  lingered  but  for  an  hour  he 
could  hardly  reach  Borsippa  at 
the  appointed  time.  His  com¬ 
panions  would  think  he  had  given 
up  the  journey.  They  would  go 
without  him.  He  would  lose  his 
quest. 

But  if  he  went  on  now,  the  man 
would  surely  die.  If  he  stayed, 
life  might  be  restored.  His  spirit 
throbbed  and  fluttered  with  the 
urgency  of  the  crisis.  Should  he 
risk  the  great  reward  of  his  divine 
faith  for  the  sake  of  a  single  deed 
of  human  love  ?  Should  he  turn 
aside,  if  only  for  a  moment,  from 
the  following  of  the  star,  to  give  a 
cup  of  cold  water  to  a  poor,  perish¬ 
ing  Hebrew  ? 

“  God  of  truth  and  purity,”  he 
prayed,  “  direct  me  in  the  holy 

34 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  BABYLON 


path,  the  way  of  wisdom  which 
Thou  only  knowest.” 

Then  he  turned  back  to  the  sick 
man.  Loosening  the  grasp  of  his 
hand,  he  carried  him  to  a  little 
mound  at  the  foot  of  the  palm-tree. 

He  unbound  the  thick  folds  of 
the  turban  and  opened  the  gar¬ 
ment  above  the  sunken  breast. 
He  brought  water  from  one  of  the 
small  canals  near  by,  and  moistened 
the  sufferer’s  brow  and  mouth. 
He  mingled  a  draught  of  one  of 
those  simple  but  potent  remedies 
which  he  carried  always  in  his 
girdle — for  the  Magians  were  physi¬ 
cians  as  well  as  astrologers — and 
poured  it  slowly  between  the 
colourless  lips.  Hour  after  hour 
he  laboured  as  only  a  skilful  healer 
of  disease  can  do;  and  at  last  the 
man’s  strength  returned;  he  sat  up 
and  looked  about  him. 

“  Who  art  thou  ?”  he  said,  in  the 
rude  dialect  of  the  country,  “  and 

35 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  BABYLON 


why  hast  thou  sought  me  here  to 
bring  back  my  life  ?” 

“  I  am  Artaban  the  Magian,  of 
the  city  of  Ecbatana,  and  I  am  go¬ 
ing  to  Jerusalem  in  search  of  one 
who  is  to  be  born  King  of  the  Jews, 
a  great  Prince  and  Deliverer  of  all 
men.  I  dare  not  delay  any  longer 
upon  my  journey,  for  the  caravan 
that  has  waited  for  me  may  depart 
without  me.  But  see,  here  is  all 
that  I  have  left  of  bread  and  wine, 
and  here  is  a  potion  of  healing 
herbs.  When  thy  strength  is  re¬ 
stored  thou  canst  find  the  dwell¬ 
ings  of  the  Hebrews  among  the 
houses  of  Babylon.” 

The  Jew  raised  his  trembling 
hand  solemnly  to  heaven. 

“  Now  may  the  God  of  Abraham 
and  Isaac  and  Jacob  bless  and 
prosper  the  journey  of  the  merci¬ 
ful,  and  bring  him  in  peace  to  his 
desired  haven.  But  stay;  I  have 
nothing  to  give  thee  in  return — 

3^ 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  BABYLON 

only  this:  that  I  can  tell  thee 
where  the  Messiah  must  be  sought. 
For  our  prophets  have  said  that 
he  should  be  born  not  in  Jerusa¬ 
lem,  but  in  Bethlehem  of  Judah. 
May  the  Lord  bring  thee  in  safety 
to  that  place,  because  thou  hast 
had  pity  upon  the  sick.” 

It  was  already  long  past  mid¬ 
night.  Artaban  rode  in  haste,  and 
Vasda,  restored  by  the  brief  rest, 
ran  eagerly  through  the  silent  plain 
and  swam  the  channels  of  the 
river.  She  put  forth  the  remnant 
of  her  strength,  and  fled  over  the 
ground  like  a  gazelle. 

But  the  first  beam  of  the  sun 
sent  her  shadow  before  her  as  she 
entered  upon  the  final  stadium  of 
the  journey,  and  the  eyes  of  Arta¬ 
ban,  anxiously  scanning  the  great 
mound  of  Nimrod  and  the  Temple 
of  the  Seven  Spheres,  could  dis¬ 
cern  no  trace  of  his  friends. 

The  many-coloured  terraces  of 

37 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  BABYLON 

black  and  orange  and  red  and 
yellow  and  green  and  blue  and 
white,  shattered  by  the  convulsions 
of  nature,  and  crumbling  under  the 
repeated  blows  of  human  violence, 
still  glittered  like  a  ruined  rainbow 
in  the  morning  light. 

Artaban  rode  swiftly  around  the 
hill.  He  dismounted  and  climbed 
to  the  highest  terrace,  looking  out 
toward  the  west. 

The  huge  desolation  of  the 
marshes  stretched  away  to  the 
horizon  and  the  border  of  the 
desert.  Bitterns  stood  by  the  stag¬ 
nant  pools  and  jackals  skulked 
through  the  low  bushes;  but  there 
was  no  sign  of  the  caravan  of  the 
wise  men,  far  or  near. 

At  the  edge  of  the  terrace  he  saw 
a  little  cairn  of  broken  bricks,  and 
under  them  a  piece  of  parchment. 
He  caught  it  up  and  read:  “  We 
have  waited  past  the  midnight, 
and  can  delay  no  longer.  We  go 

38 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  BABYLON 

to  find  the  King.  Follow  us  across 
the  desert.” 

Artaban  sat  down  upon  the 
ground  and  covered  his  head  in 
despair. 

64  How  can  I  cross  the  desert,” 
said  he,  44  with  no  food  and  with 
a  spent  horse  ?  I  must  return  to 
Babylon,  sell  my  sapphire,  and  buy 
a  train  of  camels,  and  provision  for 
the  journey.  I  may  never  over¬ 
take  my  friends.  Only  God  the 
merciful  knows  whether  I  shall  not 
lose  the  sight  of  the  King  because 
I  tarried  to  show  mercy.” 


39 


FOR  THE  SAKE  OF  A 
LITTLE  CHILD 


jfor  tbe  Safte  of  a  Xtttle  Cbilb 

There  was  a  silence  in  the  Hall 
of  Dreams,  where  I  was  listening 
to  the  story  of  the  Other  Wise 
Man.  And  through  this  silence  I 
saw,  but  very  dimly,  his  figure 
passing  over  the  dreary  undula¬ 
tions  of  the  desert,  high  upon  the 
back  of  his  camel,  rocking  steadily 
onward  like  a  ship  over  the  waves. 

The  land  of  death  spread  its 
cruel  net  around  him.  The  stony 
wastes  bore  no  fruit  but  briers  and 
thorns.  The  dark  ledges  of  rock 
thrust  themselves  above  the  sur¬ 
face  here  and  there,  like  the  bones 
of  perished  monsters.  Arid  and 
inhospitable  mountain  ranges  rose 
before  him,  furrowed  with  dry 

43 


FOR  THE  SAKE  OF 


channels  of  ancient  torrents,  white 
and  ghastly  as  scars  on  the  face 
of  nature.  Shifting  hills  of 
treacherous  sand  were  heaped  like 
tombs  along  the  horizon.  By  day, 
the  fierce  heat  pressed  its  intolerable 
burden  on  the  quivering  air;  and 
no  living  creature  moved  on  the 
dumb,  swooning  earth,  but  tiny 
jerboas  scuttling  through  the 
parched  bushes,  or  lizards  vanish¬ 
ing  in  the  clefts  of  the  rock.  By 
night  the  jackals  prowled  and 
barked  in  the  distance,  and  the  lion 
made  the  black  ravines  echo  with 
his  hollow  roaring,  while  a  bitter 
blighting  chill  followed  the  fever 
of  the  day.  Through  heat  and 
cold,  the  Magian  moved  steadily 
onward. 

Then  I  saw  the  gardens  and 
orchards  of  Damascus,  watered  by 
the  streams  of  Abana  and  Pharpar 
with  their  sloping  swards  inlaid 
with  bloom,  and  their  thickets  of 

44 


A  LITTLE  CHILD 


myrrh  and  roses.  I  saw  also  the 
long,  snowy  ridge  of  Hermon,  and 
the  dark  groves  of  cedars,  and  the 
valley  of  the  Jordan,  and  the  blue 
waters  of  the  Lake  of  Galilee,  and 
the  fertile  plain  of  Esdraelon,  and 
the  hills  of  Ephraim,  and  the  high¬ 
lands  of  Judah.  Through  all  these 
I  followed  the  figure  of  Artaban 
moving  steadily  onward,  until  he 
arrived  at  Bethlehem.  And  it 
was  the  third  day  after  the  three 
wise  men  had  come  to  that  place 
and  had  found  Mary  and  Joseph, 
with  the  young  child,  Jesus,  and 
had  laid  their  gifts  of  gold  and 
frankincense  and  myrrh  at  his  feet. 

Then  the  other  wise  man  drew 
near,  weary,  but  full  of  hope,  bear¬ 
ing  his  ruby  and  his  pearl  to  offer 
to  the  King.  “  For  now  at  last,” 
he  said,  “  I  shall  surely  find  him, 
though  it  be  alone,  and  later  than 
my  brethren.  This  is  the  place  of 
which  the  Hebrew  exile  told  me 


FOR  THE  SAKE  OF 


that  the  prophets  had  spoken,  and 
here  I  shall  behold  the  rising  of  the 
great  light.  But  I  must  inquire 
about  the  visit  of  my  brethren, 
and  to  what  house  the  star  directed 
them,  and  to  whom  they  presented 
their  tribute.” 

The  streets  of  the  village  seemed 
to  be  deserted,  and  Artaban  won¬ 
dered  whether  the  men  had  all 
gone  up  to  the  hill-pastures  to  bring 
down  their  sheep.  From  the  open 
door  of  a  low  stone  cottage  he 
heard  the  sound  of  a  woman’s 
voice  singing  softly.  He  entered 
and  found  a  young  mother  hush¬ 
ing  her  baby  to  rest.  She  told 
him  of  the  strangers  from  the 
far  East  who  had  appeared  in  the 
village  three  days  ago,  and  how 
they  said  that  a  star  had  guided 
them  to  the  place  where  Joseph  of 
Nazareth  was  lodging  with  his  wife 
and  her  new-born  child,  and  how 
they  had  paid  reverence  to  the 

46 


A  LITTLE  CHILD 


child  ana  given  him  many  rich 
gifts. 

“  But  the  travellers  disappeared 
again,”  she  continued,  “  as  sud¬ 
denly  as  they  had  come.  We  were 
afraid  at  the  strangeness  of  their 
visit.  We  could  not  understand 
it.  The  man  of  Nazareth  took 
the  babe  and  his  mother  and  fled 
away  that  same  night  secretly,  and 
it  was  whispered  that  they  were 
going  far  away  to  Egypt.  Ever 
since,  there  has  been  a  spell  upon 
the  village;  something  evil  hangs 
over  it.  They  say  that  the 
Roman  soldiers  are  coming  from 
Jerusalem  to  force  a  new  tax  from 
us,  and  the  men  have  driven  the 
flocks  and  herds  far  back  among 
the  hills,  and  hidden  themselves  to 
escape  it.” 

Artaban  listened  to  her  gentle, 
timid  speech,  and  the  child  in  her 
arms  looked  up  in  his  face  and 
smiled,  stretching  out  its  rosy 

47  E 


FOR  THE  SAKE  OF 

hands  to  grasp  at  the  winged 
circle  of  gold  on  his  breast.  His 
heart  warmed  to  the  touch.  It 
seemed  like  a  greeting  of  love  and 
trust  to  one  who  had  journeyed 
long  in  loneliness  and  perplexity, 
fighting  with  his  own  doubts  and 
fears,  and  following  a  light  that 
was  veiled  in  clouds. 

“  Might  not  this  child  have  been 
the  promised  Prince  ?”  he  asked 
within  himself,  as  he  touched  its 
soft  cheek.  “  Kings  have  been 
born  ere  now  in  lowlier  houses 
than  this,  and  the  favourite  of  the 
stars  may  rise  even  from  a  cottage. 
But  it  has  not  seemed  good  to  the 
God  of  Wisdom  to  reward  my 
search  so  soon  and  so  easily.  The 
one  whom  I  seek  has  gone  before 
me;  and  now  I  must  follow  the 
King  to  Egypt.” 

The  young  .mother  laid  the  babe 
in  its  cradle,  and  rose  to  minister 
to  the  wants  of  the  strange  guest 

48 


A  LITTLE  CHILD 


that  fate  had  brought  into  her 
house.  She  set  food  before  him, 
the  plain  fare  of  peasants,  but  will¬ 
ingly  offered,  and  therefore  full  of 
refreshment  for  the  soul  as  well 
as  for  the  body.  Artaban  accepted 
it  gratefully;  and,  as  he  ate,  the 
child  fell  into  a  happy  slumber, 
and  murmured  sweetly  in  its 
dreams,  and  a  great  peace  filled 
the  quiet  room. 

But  suddenly  there  came  the 
noise  of  a  wild  confusion  and  up¬ 
roar  in  the  streets  of  the  village,  a 
shrieking  and  wailing  of  women’s 
voices,  a  clangour  of  brazen  trum¬ 
pets  and  a  clashing  of  swords,  and 
a  desperate  cry:  “  The  soldiers! 
the  soldiers  of  Herod  !  They  are 
killing  our  children.” 

The  young  mother’s  face  grew 
white  with  terror.  She  clasped 
her  child  to  her  bosom,  and 
crouched  motionless  in  the  darkest 
corner  of  the  room,  covering  him 

49 


FOR  THE  SAKE  OF 


with  the  folds  of  her  robe,  lest  he 
should  wake  and  cry. 

But  Artaban  went  quickly  and 
stood  in  the  doorway  of  the  house. 
His  broad  shoulders  filled  the 
portal  from  side  to  side,  and  the 
peak  of  his  white  cap  all  but 
touched  the  lintel. 

The  soldiers  came  hurrying  down 
the  street  with  bloody  hands  and 
dripping  swords.  At  the  sight  of 
the  stranger  in  his  imposing  dress 
they  hesitated  with  surprise.  The 
captain  of  the  band  approached 
the  threshold  to  thrust  him  aside. 
But  Artaban  did  not  stir.  His  face 
was  as  calm  as  though  he  were 
watching  the  stars,  and  in  his  eyes 
there  burned  that  steady  radiance 
before  which  even  the  half-tamed 
hunting  leopard  shrinks  and  the 
fierce  blood-hound  pauses  in  his 
leap.  He  held  the  soldier  silently 
for  an  instant,  and  then  said  in  a 
low  voice: 


So 


A  LITTLE  CHILD 


“  I  am  all  alone  in  this  place,  and 
I  am  waiting  to  give  this  jewel  to 
the  prudent  captain  who  will  leave 
me  in  peace.” 

He  showed  the  ruby,  glistening 
in  the  hollow  of  his  hand  like  a 
great  drop  of  blood. 

The  captain  was  amazed  at  the 
splendour  of  the  gem.  The  pupils 
of  his  eyes  expanded  with  desire, 
and  the  hard  lines  of  greed  wrinkled 
around  his  lips.  He  stretched  out 
his  hand  and  took  the  ruby. 

“  March  on !”  he  cried  to  his 
men,  “  there  is  no  child  here.  The 
house  is  still.” 

The  clamour  and  the  clang  of 
arms  passed  down  the  street  as  the 
headlong  fury  of  the  chase  sweeps 
by  the  secret  covert  where  the 
trembling  deer  is  hidden.  Arta- 
ban  re-entered  the  cottage.  He 
turned  his  face  to  the  east  and 

of  truth,  forgive  my  sin  ! 


prayed : 
“  Go 


FOR  THE  SAKE  OF  A  LITTLE  CHILD 

I  have  said  the  thing  that  is  not, 
to  save  the  life  of  a  child.  And 
two  of  my  gifts  are  gone.  I  have 
spent  for  man  that  which  was 
meant  for  God.  Shall  I  ever  be 
worthy  to  see  the  face  of  the 
King  ?” 

But  the  voice  of  the  woman, 
weeping  for  joy  in  the  shadow  be¬ 
hind  him,  said  very  gently: 

“  Because  thou  hast  saved  the 
life  of  my  little  one,  may  the  Lord 
bless  thee  and  keep  thee;  the  Lord 
make  His  face  to  shine  upon  thee 
and  be  gracious  unto  thee;  the 
Lord  lift  up  His  countenance  upon 
thee  and  give  thee  peace.” 


5* 


IN  THE  HIDDEN  WAY  OF 
SORROW 


1 


3n  t be  UMbben  Mav  of  Sorrow 

Then  again  there  was  a  silence 
in  the  Hall  of  Dreams,  deeper  and 
more  mysterious  than  the  first  in¬ 
terval,  and  I  understood  that  the 
years  of  Artaban  were  flowing  very 
swiftly  under  the  stillness  of  that 
clinging  fog,  and  I  caught  only  a 
glimpse  here  and  there,  of  the 
river  of  his  life  shining  through  the 
shadows  that  concealed  its  course. 

I  saw  him  moving  among  the 
throngs  of  men  in  populous  Egypt, 
seeking  everywhere  for  traces  of 
the  household  that  had  come  down 
from  Bethlehem,  and  finding  them 
under  the  spreading  sycamore-trees 
of  Heliopolis,  and  beneath  the  walls 
of  the  Roman  fortress  of  New 

55 


IN  THE  HIDDEN  WA  Y 


Babylon  beside  the  Nile — traces  so 
faint  and  dim  that  they  vanished 
before  him  continually,  as  foot¬ 
prints  on  the  hard  river-sand 
glisten  for  a  moment  with  moisture 
and  then  disappear. 

I  saw  him  again  at  the  foot  of  the 
pyramids,  which  lifted  their  sharp 
points  into  the  intense  saffron 
glow  of  the  sunset  sky,  changeless 
monuments  of  the  perishable  glory 
and  the  imperishable  hope  of  man. 
He  looked  up  into  the  vast  counte¬ 
nance  of  the  crouching  Sphinx,  and 
vainly  tried  to  read  the  meaning  of 
the  calm  eyes  and  smiling  mouth. 
Was  it,  indeed,  the  mockery  of  all 
effort  and  all  aspiration,  as  Ti- 
granes  had  said — the  cruel  jest  of 
a  riddle  that  has  no  answer,  a 
search  that  never  can  succeed  ? 
Or  was  there  a  touch  of  pity  and 
encouragement  in  that  inscrutable 
smile — a  promise  that  even  the 
defeated  should  attain  a  victory, 

56 


OF  SORROW 


and  the  disappointed  should  dis¬ 
cover  a  prize,  and  the  ignorant 
should  be  made  wise,  and  the 
blind  should  see,  and  the  wander¬ 
ing  should  come  into  the  haven  at 
last  ? 

I  saw  him  again  in  an  obscure 
house  of  Alexandria,  taking  coun¬ 
sel  with  a  Hebrew  rabbi.  The 
venerable  man,  bending  over  the 
rolls  of  parchment  on  which  the 
prophecies  of  Israel  were  written, 
read  aloud  the  pathetic  words 
which  foretold  the  sufferings  of 
the  promised  Messiah — the  de¬ 
spised  and  rejected  of  men,  the 
man  of  sorrows  and  the  acquaint¬ 
ance  of  grief. 

“  And  remember,  my  son,”  said 
he,  fixing  his  deep-set  eyes  upon 
the  face  of  Artaban,  “  the  King 
whom  you  are  seeking  is  not  to  be 
found  in  a  palace,  nor  among  the 
rich  and  powerful.  If  the  light  of 
the  world  and  the  glory  of  Israel 

57 


IN  THE  HIDDEN  WAY 

had  been  appointed  to  come  with 
the  greatness  of  earthly  splendour, 
it  must  have  appeared  long  ago. 
For  no  son  of  Abraham  will  ever 
again  rival  the  power  which  Joseph 
had  in  the  palaces  of  Egypt, 
or  the  magnificence  of  Solomon 
throned  between  the  lions  in  Jeru¬ 
salem.  But  the  light  for  which 
the  world  is  waiting  is  a  new  light, 
the  glory  that  shall  rise  out  of 
patient  and  triumphant  suffering. 
And  the  kingdom  which  is  to  be 
established  forever  is  a  new  king¬ 
dom,  the  royalty  of  perfect  and 
unconquerable  love. 

“  I  do  not  know  how  this  shall 
come  to  pass,  nor  how  the  turbu¬ 
lent  kings  and  peoples  of  earth 
shall  be  brought  to  acknowledge 
the  Messiah  and  pay  homage  to 
Him.  But  this  I  know.  Those 
who  seek  Him  will  do  well  to  look 
among  the  poor  and  the  lowly,  the 
sorrowful  and  the  oppressed.” 

58 


OF  SORROW 

So  I  saw  the  other  wise  man 
again  and  again,  travelling  from 
place  to  place,  and  searching  among 
the  people  of  the  dispersion,  with 
whom  the  little  family  from  Beth¬ 
lehem  might,  perhaps,  have  found 
a  refuge.  He  passed  through 
countries  where  famine  lay  heavy 
upon  the  land  and  the  poor  were 
crying  for  bread.  He  made  his 
dwelling  in  plague-stricken  cities 
where  the  sick  were  languishing 
in  the  bitter  companionship  of 
helpless  misery.  He  visited  the 
oppressed  and  the  afflicted  in  the 
gloom  of  subterranean  prisons,  and 
the  crowded  wretchedness  of  slave- 
markets,  and  the  weary  toil  of 
galley-ships.  In  all  this  populous 
and  intricate  world  of  anguish, 
though  he  found  none  to  worship, 
he  found  many  to  help.  He  fed 
the  hungry,  and  clothed  the  naked, 
and  healed  the  sick,  and  com¬ 
forted  the  captive;  and  his  years 

59 


IN  THE  HIDDEN  WAY 

went  by  more  swiftly  than  the 
weaver’s  shuttle  that  flashes  back 
and  forth  through  the  loom  while 
the  web  grows  and  the  invisible 
pattern  is  completed. 

It  seemed  almost  as  if  he  had 
forgotten  his  quest.  But  once  I 
saw  him  for  a  moment  as  he  stood 
alone  at  sunrise,  waiting  at  the 
gate  of  a  Roman  prison.  He  had 
taken  from  a  secret  resting-place 
in  his  bosom  the  pearl,  the  last  of 
his  jewels.  As  he  looked  at  it,  a 
mellower  lustre,  a  soft  and  irides¬ 
cent  light,  full  of  shifting  gleams 
of  azure  and  rose,  trembled  upon 
its  surface.  It  seemed  to  have 
absorbed  some  reflection  of  the 
colours  of  the  lost  sapphire  and 
ruby.  So  the  profound,  secret 
purpose  of  a  noble  life  draws  into 
itself  the  memories  of  past  joy  and 
past  sorrow.  All  that  has  helped 
it,  all  that  has  hindered  it,  is 
transfused  by  a  subtle  magic  into 

60 


OF  SORROW 


its  very  essence.  It  becomes  more 
luminous  and  precious  the  longer 
it  is  carried  close  to  the  warmth 
of  the  beating  heart. 

Then,  at  last,  while  I  was  think¬ 
ing  of  this  pearl,  and  of  its  mean¬ 
ing,  I  heard  the  end  of  the  story 
of  the  Other  Wise  Man. 


% 


61 


A  PEARL  OF  GREAT  PRICE 


B  pearl  of  Great  price 


Three-and-thirty  years  of  the 
life  of  Artaban  had  passed  away, 
and  he  was  still  a  pilgrim,  and  a 
seeker  after  light.  His  hair,  once 
darker  than  the  cliffs  of  Zagros, 
was  now  white  as  the  wintry  snow 
that  covered  them.  His  eyes,  that 
once  flashed  like  flames  of  fire,  were 
dull  as  embers  smouldering  among 
the  ashes. 

Worn  and  weary  and  ready  to 
die,  but  still  looking  for  the  King, 
he  had  come  for  the  last  time  to 
Jerusalem.  He  had  often  visited 
the  holy  city  before,  and  had 
searched  through  all  its  lanes  and 
crowded  hovels  and  black  prisons 
without  finding  any  trace  of  the 

65 


A  PEARL  OF  GREAT  PRICE 

family  of  Nazarenes  who  had  fled 
from  Bethlehem  long  ago.  But 
now  it  seemed  as  if  he  must  make 
one  more  effort,  and  something 
whispered  in  his  heart  that,  at  last, 
he  might  succeed. 

It  was  the  season  of  the  Pass- 
over.  The  city  was  thronged  with 
strangers.  The  children  of  Israel, 
scattered  in  far  lands  all  over  the 
world,  had  returned  to  the  Temple 
for  the  great  feast,  and  there  had 
been  a  confusion  of  tongues  in  the 
narrow  streets  for  many  days. 

But  on  this  day  there  was  a 
singular  agitation  visible  in  the 
multitude.  The  sky  was  veiled 
with  a  portentous  gloom,  and 
currents  of  excitement  seemed  to 
flash  through  the  crowd  like  the 
thrill  which  shakes  the  forest  on 
the  eve  of  a  storm.  A  secret  tide 
was  sweeping  them  all  one  way. 
The  clatter  of  sandals,  and  the 
soft,  thick  sound  of  thousands  of 

66 


A  PEARL  OF  GREAT  PRICE 

bare  feet  shuffling  over  the  stones, 
flowed  unceasingly  along  the  street 
that  leads  to  the  Damascus  gate. 

Artaban  joined  company  with  a 
group  of  people  from  his  own 
country,  Parthian  Jews  who  had 
come  up  to  keep  the  Passover,  and 
inquired  of  them  the  cause  of 
the  tumult,  and  where  they  were 
going. 

“  We  are  going,”  they  answered, 
“  to  the  place  called  Golgotha,  out¬ 
side  the  city  walls,  where  there  is 
to  be  an  execution.  Have  you  not 
heard  what  has  happened  ?  Two 
famous  robbers  are  to  be  crucified, 
and  with  them  another,  called 
Jesus  of  Nazareth,  a  man  who 
has  done  many  wonderful  works 
among  the  people,  so  that  they 
love  him  greatly.  But  the  priests 
and  elders  have  said  that  he  must 
die,  because  he  gave  himself  out  to 
be  the  Son  of  God.  And  Pilate 
has  sent  him  to  the  cross  because 

67 


A  PEARL  OF  GREAT  PRICE 

he  said  that  he  was  the  ‘  King  of 
the  Jews.’  ” 

How  strangely  these  familiar 
words  fell  upon  the  tired  heart  of 
Artaban  !  They  had  led  him  for  a 
lifetime  over  land  and  sea.  And 
now  they  came  to  him  darkly  and 
mysteriously  like  a  message  of  de¬ 
spair.  The  King  had  arisen,  but 
He  had  been  denied  and  cast  out. 
He  was  about  to  perish.  Perhaps 
He  was  already  dying.  Could  it 
be  the  same  who  had  been  born 
in  Bethlehem  thirty-three  years 
ago,  at  whose  birth  the  star 
had  appeared  in  heaven,  and  of 
whose  coming  the  prophets  had 
spoken  ? 

Artaban’s  heart  beat  unsteadily 
with  that  troubled,  doubtful  ap¬ 
prehension  which  is  the  excite¬ 
ment  of  old  age.  But  he  said 
within  himself:  “  The  ways  of  God 
are  stranger  than  the  thoughts  of 
men,  and  it  may  be  that  I  shall 

68 


A  PEARL  OF  GREAT  PRICE 


find  the  King,  at  last,  in  the  hands 
of  His  enemies,  and  shall  come  in 
time  to  offer  my  pearl  for  His  ran¬ 
som  before  He  dies.” 

So  the  old  man  followed  the 
multitude  with  slow  and  painful 
steps  towards  the  Damascus  gate 
of  the  city.  Just  beyond  the 
entrance  of  the  guard-house  a  troop 
of  Macedonian  soldiers  came  down 
the  street,  dragging  a  young  girl 
with  torn  dress  and  dishevelled 
hair.  As  the  Magian  paused  to 
look  at  her  with  compassion,  she 
broke  suddenly  from  the  hands  of 
her  tormentors  and  threw  herself 
at  his  feet,  clasping  him  around  the 
knees.  She  had  seen  his  white 
cap  and  the  winged  circle  on  his 
breast. 

“  Have  pity  on  me,”  she  cried, 
“  and  save  me,  for  the  sake  of  the 
God  of  purity !  I  also  am  a 
daughter  of  the  true  religion  which 
is  taught  by  the  Magi.  My 

69 


A  PEARL  OF  GREAT  PRICE 


father  was  a  merchant  of  Parthia, 
but  he  is  dead,  and  I  am  seized 
for  his  debts  to  be  sold  as  a 
slave.  Save  me  from  worse  than 
death.” 

Artaban  trembled. 

It  was  the  old  conflict  in  his 
soul,  which  had  come  to  him  in 
the  palm-grove  of  Babylon  and  in 
the  cottage  at  Bethlehem — the 
conflict  between  the  expectation 
of  faith  and  the  impulse  of  love. 
Twice  the  gift  which  he  had  con¬ 
secrated  to  the  worship  of  religion 
had  been  drawn  from  his  hand  to 
the  service  of  humanity.  This 
was  the  third  trial,  the  ultimate 
probation,  the  final  and  irrevocable 
choice. 

Was  it  his  great  opportunity  or 
his  last  temptation  ?  He  could  not 
tell.  One  thing  only  was  clear  in 
the  darkness  of  his  mind — it  was 
inevitable.  And  does  not  the  in¬ 
evitable  come  from  God  ? 


70 


A  PEARL  OF  GREAT  PRICE 

One  thing  only  was  sure  to  his 
divided  heart — to  rescue  this  help¬ 
less  girl  would  be  a  true  deed  of 
love.  And  is  not  love  the  light  of 
the  soul  ? 

He  took  the  pearl  from  his 
bosom.  Never  had  it  seemed  so 
luminous,  so  radiant,  so  full  of 
tender,  living  lustre.  He  laid  it  in 
the  hand  of  the  slave. 

“  This  is  thy  ransom,  daughter  ! 
It  is  the  last  of  my  treasures  which 
I  kept  for  the  King.” 

While  he  spoke  the  darkness  of 
the  sky  thickened,  and  shuddering 
tremors  ran  through  the  earth, 
heaving  convulsively  like  the  breast 
of  one  who  struggles  with  mighty 
grief. 

The  walls  of  the  houses  rocked 
to  and  fro.  Stones  were  loosened 
and  crashed  into  the  street.  Dust 
clouds  filled  the  air.  The  soldiers 
fled  in  terror,  reeling  like  drunken 
men.  But  Artaban  and  the  girl 

71 


A  PEARL  OF  GREAT  PRICE 

whom  he  had  ransomed  crouched 
helpless  beneath  the  wall  of  the 
Prsetorium. 

What  had  he  to  fear  ?  What 
had  he  to  live  for  ?  He  had  given 
away  the  last  remnant  of  his 
tribute  for  the  King.  He  had 
parted  with  the  last  hope  of  find¬ 
ing  Him.  The  quest  was  over, 
and  it  had  failed.  But  even  in 
that  thought,  accepted  and  em¬ 
braced,  there  was  peace.  It  was 
not  resignation.  It  was  not  sub¬ 
mission.  it  was  something  more 
profound  and  searching.  He  knew 
that  all  was  well,  because  he  had 
done  the  best  that  he  could,  from 
day  to  day.  He  had  been  true  to 
the  light  that  had  been  given  to 
him.  He  had  looked  for  more. 
And  if  he  had  not  found  it,  if  a 
failure  was  all  that  came  out  of  his 
life,  doubtless  that  was  the  best 
that  was  possible.  He  had  not 
seen  the  revelation  of  “  life  ever- 


72 


A  PEARL  OF  GREAT  PRICE 


lasting,  incorruptible  and  immor¬ 
tal.' ”  But  he  knew  that  even  if 
he  could  live  his  earthly  life  over 
again,  it  could  not  be  otherwise 
than  it  had  been. 

One  more  lingering  pulsation  of 
the  earthquake  quivered  through 
the  ground.  A  heavy  tile,  shaken 
from  the  roof,  fell  and  struck  the 
old  man  on  the  temple.  He  lay 
breathless  and  pale,  with  his  grey 
head  resting  on  the  young  girl’s 
shoulder,  and  the  blood  trickling 
from  the  wound.  As  she  bent 
over  him,  fearing  that  he  was 
dead,  there  came  a  voice  through 
the  twilight,  very  small  and  still, 
like  music  sounding  from  a  dis¬ 
tance,  in  which  the  notes  are  clear 
but  the  words  are  lost.  The  girl 
turned  to  see  if  some  one  had 
spoken  from  the  window  above 
them,  but  she  saw  no  one. 

Then  the  old  man’s  lips  began  to 
move,  as  if  in  answer,  and  she 

73 


A  PEARL  OF  GREAT  PRICE 


heard  him  say  in  the  Parthian 
tongue: 

“  Not  so,  my  Lord:  For  when 
saw  I  thee  an  hungered  and  fed 
thee  ?  Or  thirsty,  and  gave  thee 
drink  ?  When  saw  I  thee  a 
stranger,  and  took  thee  in  ?  Or 
naked,  and  clothed  thee  ?  When 
saw  I  thee  sick  or  in  prison,  and 
came  unto  thee  ?  Three-and- 
thirty  years  have  I  looked  for  thee ; 
but  I  have  never  seen  thy  face,  nor 
ministered  to  thee,  my  King.” 

Fie  ceased,  and  the  sweet  voice 
came  again.  And  again  the  maid 
heard  it,  very  faintly  and  far  away. 
But  now  it  seemed  as  though  she 
understood  the  words: 

“  V erily  I  say  unto  thee ,  Inas¬ 
much  as  thou  hast  done  it  unto  one 
of  the  least  of  these  my  brethren ,  thou 
hast  done  it  unto  me .” 

A  calm  radiance  of  wonder  and 
joy  lighted  the  pale  face  of  Arta- 
ban  like  the  first  ray  of  dawn  on  a 

74 


A  PEARL  OF  GREAT  PRICE 


snowy  mountain-peak.  One  long, 
last  breath  of  relief  exhaled  gently 
from  his  lips. 

His  journey  was  ended.  His 
treasures  were  accepted.  The 
Other  Wise  Man  had  found  the 
King. 


THE  END 


Printed  in  Great  Britain 
by 

Billing  and  Sons,  Ltd.,  Guildford  and  Esher 


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